


Reflection

by kjack89



Series: Twelve Days of Christmas Giveaway Fics [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a holiday event thrown by his father's work, Enjolras meets a caterer named Grantaire who changes his look on life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tumblr user kytesama](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tumblr+user+kytesama).



> Based loosely on the song "Reflection" from Mulan.
> 
> Though I've not tagged this as underage, Enjolras is only sixteen in this (legal age of consent in most places, but read carefully if that bothers you).
> 
> Usual disclaimer - I don't own anything because I'm too poor to do so.

Enjolras felt like he was suffocating.

The room was stuffy, and not just because the company, a veritable who’s who of high society, all dressed up to the nines and mingling with forced smiles on their faces as they drank overpriced alcohol and ate overpriced hors d’oeuvres. He felt as if his bowtie was choking him, and he wanted to scratch the Armani tuxedo off of his skin if that were somehow possible.

As it was, his mother tightened her grip on his arm, and Enjolras forced himself to smile widely at whomever was chatting to his mother. He had completely lost any track of the conversation and was forced to nod and smile as they carried on with whatever they were talking about.

These kinds of events were the bane of Enjolras’s existence. At sixteen years old, this made for the tenth such holiday party thrown by his father’s work, an excuse for the rich and famous to get together, get drunk and make behind-the-doors business deals. When he was younger, at least he had been able to hang out at the children’s table with the other children; now, he was expected to accompany his mother around for the evening, since his father disappeared as soon as the first guests arrived, hanging out in back rooms or offices discussing God knows what. Every now and again he would make a reappearance to get himself a fresh glass of scotch and would come find his wife, press a dry kiss to her cheek, and disappear again.

He never spared a second glance at his only son.

And so Enjolras went on smiling and nodding and drinking the single glass of champagne he was allowed (not that he wanted alcohol anyway, but the point still remained) and all the while hated himself just that much more.

He hated these people, he hated these events, and if he were braver, he would burn this entire fucking place to the ground with everyone in it. Or at the very least would tell his parents that he wasn’t going, refusing the monkey suit and the bowtie and false pleasantries, locking himself in his room, or better yet, escaping from his parents’ house completely, leaving it behind and never to return, running away from this life that ran completely counter to everything that he believed in and held dear.

If he was being honest, he hadn’t always believed that this life was terrible; he had been young once, and stupid, and had listened to his father at the dinner table when he would drone on about capitalism and the laziness of the working class, how the average population was stupid and living off of the taxes that he, an honest, hard-working citizen, paid. But then he had spent some times hanging out with the staff at one of the events. And then he started reading the newspaper, and then online news, and then finally blogs written by those very lazy, “stupid” people that his father so hated.

Once he started educating himself, he finally realized what kind of man his father was, what kind of man his father wanted him to be.

The kind of man that Enjolras would never let himself become.

He had already promised himself that once he graduated from high school, once he made his way to college, he would never look back, would never  _come_  back to this life. But at the same time, every day that went on was another day of torture, and he wanted nothing more than to escape now, or at the very least give his parents a piece of his mind.

And for now, he had to put on the mask of the doting, loyal son, as false as the smile he had plastered on his face. Truth be told, it was exhausting.

Which was why, the first chance he got, he excused himself from his mother, citing a need to go to the bathroom. Instead, he went around the back, leaning against the brick wall out of sight of any of the party guests and breathing heavily, loosening his tie with one hand as his other clenched against the cool brick, scrabbling for something to hold him upright when it felt like he just wanted to collapse.

He heard someone next to him clear his throat, and looked over to see a dark-haired man, maybe just a few years older than him, staring at him with something like concern in his features as he took a drag from the cigarette dangling between his thin fingers. “Hey, are you ok?” the guy asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Enjolras slowly straightened, unable to look away from the guy, from his dark curls to his bright blue eyes, to his thin fingers, to the way his Adam’s apple bobbed almost nervously as he looked at him. “I’m fine,” Enjolras heard himself saying, even if his rapidly beating heart made him feel anything but.

Because that was one of the things that the mask he wore around his parents and their friends hid: Enjolras…well, he hesitated to say he was gay, but…he definitely liked guys. And apparently, he liked this guy, or else just couldn’t stop staring at him and his scruff that he wanted to touch so badly he almost reached out for him, only just managing to catch himself. Instead, he asked, “Are you a guest?”

The dark-haired man laughed slightly, an honest, surprised laugh, revealing slightly crooked teeth and a wry but genuine smile as he did. “Hell no,” he said cheerfully, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out against the wall. “No, I’m working with the caterers. Taking my union-mandated smoke break.”

Enjolras instantly perked up. “You’re part of a union?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager (trying not to let this guy know that he was the first blue collar union worker that he had ever met).

Laughing again, the guy shook his head. “No. Technically I’m being paid under the table. I just took the job because my friend’s little brother was sick, and she needed to stay with him.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Right.” He hesitated for just a moment, then stuck out his hand for the guy to shake. “My name’s Enjolras.”

The guy smiled again, a bright smile that almost made Enjolras blush, and he repeated, “Enjolras.” He shook Enjolras’s hand as if he might break within his grip, and told him, “My name’s Grantaire.”

He kept holding on to Enjolras’s hand for longer than was probably appropriate, and it was only when Enjolras cleared his throat that Grantaire realized what he was doing and dropped Enjolras’s hand like he had been scalded. “Oh. Shit. Sorry.”

It was too dim to tell for sure, but Enjolras thought that Grantaire was blushing, and felt himself blush as well. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice suddenly higher pitched than usual. “So, uh, when you’re not working instead of your friend, what do you normally do?”

“I go to school,” Grantaire said carelessly, as if it wasn’t all that excited. “Studying art. Or something. My dad wanted me to study math, but I decided that a math degree that might actually make me money was worth fuck all, so said screw it.”

Enjolras stared at him as if Grantaire was the best thing he had ever seen. “So your dad wanted you to do one thing and you just…didn’t? What happened? What did he do?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t really do or say much. We don’t really talk anymore.” He frowned slightly, something in his face flickering. “Not that we really talked much before that. But once I got out of his house I didn’t really look back. It wasn’t worth it.”

“God, you have no idea how good that sounds,” Enjolras said fervently, running a hand through his blond curls. “That’s all I want in life. Once I graduate from high school, I’m gone, and I’ll never see my parents or this stupid place or these stupid people again. I’ll be gone, I’ll be doing  _good_  in this world, changing it for the better, helping everyone who needs it—”

Holding up his hands, Grantaire laughed quietly, though there was a quiet sadness in his laugh. “Whoa there. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I could tell by the completely soul-crushed look on your face and the fact that you’re hiding out back here that this isn’t quite your scene.” He shot Enjolras a careful look before asking, “Why don’t you just leave now? You’re old enough. Take the GED, fuck your parents, and make your own way in the world.”

Enjolras shrugged, feeling a blush creep across his cheeks again as he muttered, “I get my inheritance from my grandfather when I turn 18.”

“Oh.” Contained in that syllable was enough judgment and disappointment to make Enjolras wince at the sound. “So when you said you wanted to change the world, what you meant was you wanted to change the world without changing your own circumstances. Don’t want to deign to come down to the level of the commoner.”

A muscle worked in Enjolras’s jaw and he glared at Grantaire. “If you must know,” he said through clenched teeth, “I intend to use that money to work through college and then law school, and whatever’s leftover is getting donated. I don’t want to make my way through this world on the backs of those who worked for my parents and grandparents.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “And yet by using that money for your education, an education that most people could never afford, you set yourself above almost everyone that you intend to help. Just another rich boy with a guilty conscience.”

“Don’t say that!” Enjolras insisted, knowing that he was sounding like a petulant child and hating himself for it, and hating Grantaire a little for making him sound like this. “In an ideal world, everyone would have the same opportunities! But it’s  _not_  an ideal world, and I can only do what’s in my power at the moment until we can change the system so that this never happens again! And maybe you’re too cynical to believe that will happen, but—”

What he was about to say was cut off by Grantaire, who crossed to him and pressed him against the wall, kissing him soundly. Enjolras froze for a moment before all but melting into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s waist and hoping in a hazy, distracted way that Grantaire wouldn’t notice how completely inexperienced he was. As abruptly as he had initiated the kiss, Grantaire ended it, stepping away and looking equal parts ecstatic and horrified. “I am so sorry,” he said, his voice a low, nervous rumble. “You just – you have no idea what you look like when you talk like that. And you believe so much in what you’re saying and I just…I had to.”

“It’s ok,” Enjolras told him, breathless, feeling his head spin. “I just, uh, I just wasn’t expecting…that. But it was…wow.”

Grantaire laughed slightly, looking at Enjolras with something almost longing on his face. “Glad it was good for you, too,” he teased. “I mean, had I known I could reduce you to so few words by doing that, I might’ve tried it earlier in the conversation.”

Enjolras managed to laugh as well, though he still felt as if he wasn’t breathing properly. He gestured vaguely at Grantaire’s pocket. “Can I, uh, can I bum a cigarette?”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened, but he told him easily, “Sure.” Pulling the pack from his pocket, he grabbed a cigarette and lit it with his battered Zippo. Instead of handing it to Enjolras, though, he sucked in a deep puff of smoke and closed the space between them, pressing his hand against Enjolras’s cheek, gently slotting their mouths together and breathing the smoke into Enjolras’s mouth.

Enjolras thought he might pass out if it weren’t for Grantaire’s steadying hand on his hip. This was…this was everything he had never dared to let himself imagine or hope for, and he closed his eyes, wanting desperately for this to continue. When they broke apart this time, Enjolras bit his lip and looked at Grantaire almost shyly. “Maybe…maybe you’re right. Maybe I should leave now. Just…leave all this behind. I don’t want any part of it anyway.”

Laughing again, this time a slightly sad laugh, Grantaire shook his head, cupping Enjolras’s cheek and leaning forward so that their foreheads touched. “Nah,” he said, half-smiling. “That’d be really stupid of you. You’ve been given a great opportunity, and you should do everything with it that you can’t.”

Enjolras shook his head slightly, leaning into Grantaire’s touch. “But how can I stand two more years of this?” Two more years of hiding who he was, of waiting for the day when he didn’t have to hide from his parents or from himself, of being unable to do  _this_  whenever he wanted…

“Because if you do, you’ll change the world. And that’s worth the two years,” Grantaire told him, simply. “And on days when you find yourself doubting that, remember that I believe that. And I believe in you. Whatever worth that counts for, I suppose.”

Enjolras kissed him, a tentative, hesitant kiss, and told him truthfully, “It counts for a lot.”

Smiling crookedly, Grantaire pulled away, his fingers slipping down Enjolras’s arm to tangle with Enjolras’s. “It probably shouldn’t. I’m nobody, really. Just another fucked up nobody, sloughing my way half-assed through school and life.”

“I don’t believe that,” Enjolras told him, fiercely. “And when I get out of here, I’ll prove that to you just as much as I’ll prove that I’m better than this life to myself.”

Grantaire’s answering smile was swift and fleeting, replaced by something unreadable as he dropped Enjolras’s hand. “Then I look forward to seeing you prove me wrong on all accounts. You’re going to do amazing things, Enjolras. So re-tie your bowtie and get back to your party. And maybe, in two years…well, who knows.”

With that said, and with one last glance at Enjolras, Grantaire slipped into the side door, leaving Enjolras standing outside, feeling for the first time like he could actually make it through until his eighteenth birthday. So with trembling fingers, he tied his bowtie before slipping back to his mother’s side, the smile on his face the first natural smile he had worn all evening.


End file.
